A/N: I'll be updating both of my current fics on alternating weeks, so one week is Bitter Protocol, the next is Eve, and so on.

Chapter Two

"Miss, are you okay?"

The question drew her eyes away from the burning Vatican. A man's voice, then a hand on her shoulder. The girl turned around, blinking curiously. She opened her mouth to respond, only for the man to recoil suddenly, gasping.

"Ach!" He spat, snapping his hand back and jumping away from her as though burned. His expression, a moment ago concerned, was suddenly wide-eyed and drained of color.

The girl didn't understand. She took a step toward the man, but he stumbled back further, bumping into a few people standing behind him. "N-no! Get away!"

His outburst got the attention of several bystanders, who all turned to look — first at him, then at her. All at once, a chorus of gasps erupted, and like the man, everyone close to her suddenly backed away, making a wide berth. When the girl turned her head, the circle widened as she met the eyes of everyone else around her.

"Dio santo!"

"Her back!"

"Her face!"

"Merda, look at the blood!"

"W-what? What's wrong?" The girl finally spoke, confusion and uncertainty rising within her. She could feel an ache in her back, and her stumbling around left a haphazard trail of bloody footprints, looking for a friendly face in the crowd. But she found none.

She reached around her back, and her hand came away bloody. The sight of it made her vision blur for a moment, before looking back up to the crowd. What did they see? Why was she bleeding?

The girl didn't realize there were so many people until all of them were looking at her.

She suddenly felt very, very alone.

None of them approached her. The one who initially wanted to help her now looked as though she just killed his dog. Some, already upset by the catastrophe in the city, looked ready to run. Others seemed frozen, unable to move even when she approached them, only to be pushed back by hisses and curses. Every single one of them, though, had the same expression.

Fear.

As if the destruction and fires weren't enough. The girl tried to step one way, then another, reaching out — but everyone around her moved back in sync. "P-please, what is happening…"

But no one answered her. One man even shoved her away when she got too close. The girl, caught off-guard, stumbled back and hit a lamp-post behind her. It struck her shoulder and sent a dizzying wave of pain down her spine and up to her head. The dull ache bloomed into something sharper, hotter.

"It's your eyes, signorina," something warm came draping down over her shoulders, and she looked down at the green coat that had been wrapped around her, then up at the man who'd put it there. He had come up from behind, and spoke with a soft voice. "You scare them. Come. There is a first aid station this way."

My eyes? Trembling hands reached up to her face. She didn't know what he meant. Was there something wrong with her eyes, too?

"Just keep your head down, it'll be fine," The stranger continued to speak, ushering her through the staring crowd, the faces stricken with mute terror. "Does it hurt? You're bleeding very badly."

"Yes, a little," The girl replied, following his advice and lowering her eyes, wincing as she rolled her shoulders. It was prominent but not unbearable. She could still move and think without too much annoyance. "What happened to me?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you were hurt during the explosion. A doctor can tell us more."

"Explosion?" She looked up into the buildings around her; the buildings were so close together, the streets so narrow, that they blocked out the sun and dropped the two into shadow. Still, sirens echoed in the distance, and the columns of smoke filled the sky like black titans. The girl thought she saw faces in the broken windows and vacant doorways, but whenever she looked, they vanished from sight.

"Si. Did you not hear it?" The stranger asked, and this time, the girl looked at him, really took in his appearance. Aged, perhaps fifty or so, with dark hair graying at the temples, a short beard and sharp blue eyes behind thin-framed glasses. He had a slightly rugged look, and only flinched slightly when she met his eyes, but did not appear frightened as everyone else seemed to be. Still, he was by far the friendliest face she had encountered so far.

The girl only shook her head, so the stranger continued. "It was less than an hour ago. Everything was normal, everyone going about their day, then there was this bright flash, brighter than the sun — dropping out of the sky. It blinded me instantly. I didn't see what caused the blast that followed, but it knocked me right off my feet. Like a shockwave. It shook the ground and glass exploded."

"What was it? A meteor? A bomb? A missile?"

They reached the end of the street, opening up to a road, clogged with stopped vehicle and pedestrians. Some motor by on little scooters. Many were injured, their bright summery clothes stained red, ripped cloth used as improvised bandaging. Some shuffle like zombies, heads down, expressions blank; others rush, eyes wild, faces pale, as they head in whatever direction isn't the Vatican.

The cobblestone streets were filled with litter, alongside the glass. Shredded paper, chunks of stone and brick, small bits that looked like metal shards...purses and shoes, phones and hats, dropped in the initial panic.

"That was my initial thought. A nuclear bomb, but apparently that is not the case. Whatever it was, it landed on the Vatican. No one can get inside."

Turning, they came across two parked ambulances in the middle of the street. A white tent had been raised over in a nearby park, and there was already a line of people waiting, more sitting around and receiving care. At least two dozen medics darted about, their hands covered in latex gloves, their arms full of supplies, bandages, and blood packets. There was a man with a megaphone directing traffic. It was hard to make out through the garble and the chatter of people around her. Those who were hurt were to stay; the rest should go to their homes, stay inside, until the police cleared the area.

Many of these civilians looked worse than she did. Although she didn't know it at the time, she had been underwater when the initial shockwave blew out all the glass in city — the river water had protected her from the shrapnel. These people, however, had not been so lucky.

It was louder here, too, and the girl immediately wanted to leave, even though she knew she was hurt. The screaming, the crying, the wailing sirens in the distance, the constant radio chatter and yelling — her head was already rattled by a previous trauma. Her feet bled but she didn't feel it. Nor the holes in her back.

The girl looked the other way. Down the street, a bridge let to Vatican island. It was haphazardly blocked by police cars and yellow sawhorses. "Who could've caused it?"

"I don't know. It's too early to say right now." The stranger carefully guiding her around the remains of a burning car, left idling in the street. Everyone else kept walking past, not even looking at it; the girl couldn't pull her eyes off of the sight of the flames until they had passed it. "Best not to worry too much on it, yes? Let us speak of something else. Do you have a name?"

The girl opened her mouth, then paused, frowning. The answer did not come to her as naturally as she'd like. In fact, no answer came at all. The girl remained silent, her frustration and bafflement growing as she could not summon what she knew should be second nature to her. "I-I don't know..."

"You have a strange accent. You are not from Italia?" The stranger guessed, fixing her with an odd look. "You learn from somewhere else, yes?"

The girl just looked at him, bewildered. Like the eyes, she could not tell that her voice was different from anyone else's. Maybe it was because she still had a vague ringing in her ears, or because her voice was starting to tremble with growing distress. her said at length, growing distress making her voice tremble. "I don't remember. I don't know who I am. Oh, god."

"It's okay, if you have a concussion, you may not remember." The stranger soothed when the girl is unable to speak. He sat her down gently on the curb, then gestured to a passing aide for help. They sat on the grass, and the girl didn't feel the sharpness of the glass and the hard road until she stepped onto soft turf. "Check your pockets, see what is inside. Maybe you have a wallet or something with your name on it."

She did so, and was surprised to find they were not as empty as she expected. In the left pocket, she drew out a torn bracelet made of what appeared to be knotted black wool with a tassel. In the right, she pulled out something else. Three little ceramic beads, and a black feather.

The ceramic beads had colorful lettering on them, like it had belonged to a child. They did not interest her as much as the feather, though; small, soft and downy, it glimmered even in the shade, shifting from black to charcoal gray. She held it out in her palm as the stranger plucked the beads from her hand, curious.

She stroked the soft edge of the feather as the man rearranged the beads, trying to spell them out. "Could be a name. A...I...M… Aim? Hmm. Ami? No. Ima? Or...Mia?"

At that, the girl's head jerked up, a chill going down her back. The stranger raised his eyebrows at her, then smiled, handing the beads back to her. "Well, I suppose that's the one, eh? So tell me, Mia, do you remember anything, anything at all?"

Although the name had rung a bell, the girl — Mia — couldn't recall anything else. Brow furrowing in frustration, she looked back down at the feather and the woolen cord, wondering what they were, and why she had them in her pocket. Such strange things. Could never be as easy as having an ID that could tell her everything she needed to know about herself.

Was Mia her actual name? She didn't know, but she liked it better than Ami or the other options, and you can only make so many combinations out of the three letters. She played with the beads in her hand. Maybe it had spelled out her real name once. But like everything else, it felt like something was missing, like a gap in a puzzle.

An aide finally came around, his white scrubs coated in spackled blood. He ripped off his used gloves and pulled on a new set, kneeling down in front of the pair. "Hello, were you both injured in the explosion?"

"Me? I'm fine, it is my friend here who needs medical attention." The stranger gestured to her.

"So this isn't your daughter?"

"No, I'm just a friend."

"Right…and what's your name?" The paramedic turned to her.

"Mia."

"Alright, Mia, can you tell me everything that happened?" The medic turned his attention to Mia's feet, which were the nearest injury to him, with a clear bloody path leading up to their spot.

"I-I don't know," Mia was getting tired of repeating those words. "I don't remember. I woke up in the river after the explosion or whatever...but everything before that is a blank."

"Ah, I see. If you were on the river you would've been close to Vatican City and the blast. Amnesia after a traumatic event is not unusual," The paramedic replied. He made a sound in his mouth, scrunching his nose at the shards of glass in the soles of her feet, then gave the girl a small reassuring smile. To ease the tension, the fear, perhaps. "Well, you can call me Federico, okay? I'll have to take each piece out and stitch them up — you shouldn't have been walking on them. Didn't it hurt?"

Mia shrugged. He hadn't even seen what happened to her back yet. "Not really. Feels sharp but...I can ignore it."

Mia risked looking up into the medic's eyes, which was a mistake. Federico, who'd been checking her feet, had chanced a glance up at the same time, and did a double-take. "Gah! Your eyes, what happened?"

"I-I don't know," Mia frowned, flinching as the medic adjusted his attention, bringing cold latex hands to her face, stretching her eyelids apart. "They don't hurt."

"It doesn't?" Federico made a face, baffled, pulling out a small flashlight to check each eye. The brightness made her squint a little, but nothing obvious. "Well, your pupils are dilating correctly, your gaze seems focused. You can read, yes? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two."

"And do you feel any dizziness? Nausea?"

"Earlier, but it's not so bad now." Mia replied. Although Federico seemed deeply disturbed by the state of her eyes, pale-faced and stricken, he didn't seem as alarmed as the random pedestrians she'd run into before. "Why? What's wrong with my eyes? What is everyone so upset about?"

Federico exchanged looks with the stranger, who shrugged, so the medic reached back and pulled out a small object from his pocket. A mirror. "See for yourself."

Mia paused, then took it. Lifting up the mirror to her face, Mia saw the young face of a blonde girl she didn't recognize. Freckles. A teenager. A stranger.

A stranger with red eyes.

Mia didn't even register it as herself until she blinked and the reflection did, too. Glowing red irises burned right back into her, seething and sharp; a sharp pain bloomed behind her eyes, and her gut twisted — a sudden, unfathomable dread bottomed out in her stomach and the alarm, the fear, came quickly after.

So fast, so powerful the breath left her lungs in a gasp. Mia dropped the mirror, flinching away from it as if she'd been burned.

Now she understood. Now she knew why those people had turned from her.

She was a freak.

"O-oh…" Mia said at last, her voice tiny and humbled, her head turning downwards to her hands. Back to the feather, the beads, and the cord.

A warm hand rested on her shoulder, and she looked up to meet the stranger's gaze. His expression was kind, showing no fear that she felt. "It's alright, I'm sure it'll fade. Just let Federico take care of you, okay? You have other things to worry about than your eyes."

Mia didn't want to think so, still distressed by looking into her own reflection, but came to the conclusion that the stranger was right. Her eyes didn't hurt and besides the color and effect they had on people, did not seem injured.

"I can give you some eye-drops for them," Federico added helpfully, although Mia noticed how he deliberately avoided her gaze now. He busied himself with her feet, using a pair of tweezers from his toolkit to pull out one glass shard after another. They clinked together as they grew into a pile, and warm blood began dripping freely down her foot, soaking into the grass. Pieces of gauze and ripped cloth absorbed the rest of the blood so Federico could work unhindered. "I can't believe you're not feeling any of this…what happened?"

"You should check her back as well, once you're done," the stranger suggested. "It's...not a good sight."

"Oh, is it?" Federico snorted, then had the decency to look embarrassed by the slip in composure. Clearing his throat, he said, "Well, I'll take a look after I finish stitching. Describe the injury to me. Is it urgent?"

"No," Mia said almost immediately. The ache was dulled, no sharpness like that in her feet. "It's bleeding. I think maybe I hit something, I don't know."

Federico nodded, and continued to work, finishing cleaning her right foot and beginning to stitch it up. As he worked between that and her left, Mia busied herself with what amounted to her personal belongings. Pulling apart the braiding of the wool cord, she found it was now thin enough to thread the beads onto, which she did. Mia pondered at the meaning of her eyes, what could color them such a way. She knew instinctively it wasn't natural, as if everyone's reaction to them hadn't already clued her in. Right now, Mia wanted nothing more than to have them be their normal color, whatever that would be. Blue or brown or grey, just something that didn't invoke horror and disgust.

One thing that didn't invoke those feelings was the feather. In fact, she found herself enraptured once more in the odd, undulating blackness shifting in the light. Under the sunlight, it was actually quite...beautiful.

Mia blinked, then shook her head to herself. She was just looking too hard at it, trying to find a deeper meaning in a silly little feather. Was it really a clue to her true identity, or had she just picked it up off the ground? Some random crow's feather wouldn't hold the secret to her real name.

Whatever. Mia pinched the cord between two fingers and knotted it around the feather's stem. Crow feather or not, she wasn't going to lose it, on the off chance it really was important. Tying the loose ends, Mia found herself with a decently long necklace.

"You'll need to stay off your feet for a while," Federico said, laying down her left foot — both were now wrapped in gauze and bandages, fully stitched. There was a not-insubstantial pile of broken glass piled on the curb. "Walk as little as you can, keep them off dirty surfaces. I'll try to find you a pair of shoes or...sandals, if they don't hurt. Change the bandages every day, keep the area clean to avoid infection. Do you understand, Mia? If these get bad, you could lose both your feet."

That was a sobering thought. Mia nodded, in a slight daze. "I-I understand."

Federico got up, taking his kit with him as he went around to check her back. He pulled off the green jacket, and clucked his tongue at the sight. "Well, that's an interesting sight, indeed… Mia, I'll need you to remove your shirt. Would you —"

"I can help," The stranger offered. He'd been very quiet so far, keeping company but with his eyes scanning the area around them. There was a radio nearby he seemed to be listening to, but now the stranger turned to Mia, adjusting the coat so it covered her front as they adjusted her shirt, pulling it up to her neck. Mia clung to the jacket, a little embarrassed to be like this in front of so many other people; but everyone else seemed to be focused on their own injuries and problems — many in even greater states of undress than her. Mia took a deep breath and told herself to relax, as Federico began prodding at her back.

"That's odd," He muttered to himself, and she caught the scent of iodine as he cleaned away the blood from the wounds. "These look like...bullet wounds. Mia, how did you…?"

"I've been shot?" Forget losing her feet, this was even worse than she thought. How would she not know she'd been shot?

Could explain the amnesia, though. It seemed traumatic enough, right?

"They look shallow," Federico mused, and within the minute he had pulled the foreign material from her wounds. Placing them in a small tin, Mia could look around and see that he was correct. Two small bullets, half-flattened from impact. Federico was already stitching the wounds. "This looks very recent, within the last couple hours. If that's true, then possibly — Ach!"

Mia had no idea what had alarmed Federico, as when he pushed her hair over her shoulder, she was distracted by the fact that it appeared she'd dyed her hair bone-white at some point. Only it had grown out some time ago, so now only the ends of her hair were pale before fading back up into her natural hair color, an ashy blonde. She pulled her hair down, straightening the waves. It nearly went all the way down her chest — the color fading in midway through. How much time had passed since her hair had been white? Six months? A year?

When she looked over her shoulder at Federico, she caught him signing the cross to himself, lips moving in a quick prayer. The sight of it made her heart quicken a beat, uncertainty striking her again. What was it now?

"What is it?" the stranger looked around, looking equally concerned. Federico only gestured him to look, cold latex pressing against the base of Mia's skull, pushing her head down for a clearer view. She couldn't see either of their expressions, but the stranger's voice took on a much darker tone. "Oh. I see."

The mirror returned. Federico kept a hold of it, letting Mia straighten up and angling the mirror so she could see what was on the back of her neck.

She had to strain her eyes to see at that angle, but the sight of it was even more sickening than looking into her own gaze.

Because on the nape of her neck, just below her hairline, was a five-pointed star inside a circle. A deep scar carved into her skin, as if with a knife.

Someone had branded Mia with a pentagram.

"I-I…" This discovery seemed to have genuinely shaken Federico, who stumbled back, gloved hand wiping his forehead, now slick with sweat. It left a smudge of her blood behind. He was looking at everything but her. "I have to go...find you some shoes. And some more supplies. I'll b-be right...I'll be right back, uh, scusi..."

Mia watched him go, bewildered, starting to shake a little. If what seemed like an experienced paramedic was shaken by this, then it had to be bad, right? Not sure what to make of it, she fixed the stranger with a worried look, wondering if now was a good time to panic.

"Well," the stranger said, eyebrows raised. Although he seemed serious, he did not appear as shaken as Federico. With careful hands, he pulled her shirt back down and readjusted her hair to hide the pentagram on her neck. "It looks healed. I doubt it happened any time recently. Either way, it appears you've been living quite an interesting life, huh, Mia?"

His tone was surprisingly light-hearted, with made Mia smile a little. Some levity was never a bad thing. "I-I guess. But why did he, did Federico...do that?"

"I imagine he's a God-fearing man, as many are here," The stranger replied, his eyes drawing up to the burning Vatican. "And not unreasonably, I'd say. Considering the current circumstances, people will be more likely to jump to conclusions, take things at face value." When the smile fell off her face, he continued quickly, "Don't let it sway you, Mia. They are just scared. And fear affects men like no other."

"Oh," Mia wasn't sure if that made it any better or not. She'd seen well enough how people reacted to her eyes. Federico had lasted a bit longer until he'd seen the brand — would anyone be fully okay with it? The only one so far seemed to be this stranger, and he seemed to be a rarity. "Why aren't you afraid?"

"This may sound odd, but you are not the worse I've ever seen," the man chuckled. "And I'm not the only one. As for the rest, they may hate you, but don't hate them. Pity them, because they don't understand."

Mia let out a little huff of laughter, humorless. "Well, I don't understand much, either."

"I imagine that will change."

It wasn't an answer Mia expected, the confidence in his voice, as if he knew something she didn't. Mia played with the necklace in her hand, twisting and untwisting the cord around her fingers. She played with the beads, fiddling with her new name, wondering where she was supposed to go from here. If she wasn't from Italy, then where was she from? How did she learn the language? What else did she know but not discovered yet?

Mia was highly aware she was in a bad situation. She had seen her reflection and could only guess at her own age. Sixteen, seventeen? Stuck in what was likely a foreign country? Did she have family who missed her? Did she have a home to go back to?

Her memory remained a blank. Rome was on fire and from the sound of radio chatter, it didn't seem to be getting any better. Mia had woken up in what seemed to be the worst possible situation. She knew about Italy, sure; she didn't know where or how, but she knew Rome was the capital, she knew it was largely Catholic and its location in Europe, on the planet earth.

But she had no idea about recent events. The current political state, or economical, ecological, whatever. The warm terracotta rooftops, laundry lines stretched high over streets and alleyways, the rounded doorways and the weathered marble columns felt familiar, in a way, like she'd seen them in photographs or movies. She could smell the river from here, but carried with it was the stench of many fires burning, the unending sirens and the distant screaming and crying. People were hurt. People were in trouble. And no one seemed to know what had caused it.

A beautiful day for a disaster.

Then it started to snow.

Mia looked up in awe, watching as the large soft flakes landed on the curb. She reached out with a pale hand to catch one — then flinched back. The snowflake was black.

It wasn't snow. It was ash.

Horror, renewed, had her scrambling back. Cries of alarm burst out to her left and right as others began to notice as well. People shook themselves over, others ran to cover. Mia just sat there on the grass, stunned. Rome was burning so bad, the sky was filled with so much smoke that it had begun to rain ash.

"Mia? I found some shoes —" Federico returned, newly acquired footwear and kit in hand. He'd been looking up at the sky, too, until his eyes drew down and he came to a complete and abrupt stop. Brow furrowing, he asked, "Where did your friend go?"

"What?" Mia looked over, then jolted when she found the space next to her completely empty. Mia blinked, startled. She hadn't even heard him left. Her head snapped around, quickly scanning the area with growing alarm. He was nowhere in sight. Where had he gone? "I-I don't —"

The stranger was gone. Vanished into thin air.

Mia had forgot to ask for his name.